Fallout
by Ethiercn
Summary: Takes place during New Warriors1st series. Takes place after Child's Play. Has Firestar quit the New Warriors? What is she doing with Nova? Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Fallout

By Ethiercn

_The following takes place after New Warriors (1__st__ series) #50. It is a "what if" and, therefore, non-cannon. I read the New Warriors for years, up until the point where Sil left with Bandit and Firestar found out her powers were sterilizing her at which point I stopped reading. I thought it was funny how every powerful woman in Marvel had to have some kind of problem with her powers, and how come Firestar didn't get a second opinion (and considering the Starlost and Sphinx storylines wouldn't she be sterile already?). The sterilization issue does not occur in the story below. This story was inspired after I re-read the New Warriors and did not like how easily Firestar forgave Justice for the whole Child's Play arc, considering how she was determined not to be controlled again. The characters used are from the core group (Night Thrasher, Nita, Nova, Speedball, Rage, Sil, Firestar, and Justice). The story also makes use of plot points from the Firestar mini-series and the Firestar story in Marvel Comics Presents. Firestar is also a year or two older here than in the New Warriors (which seem to adjust her age each issue). She is in college. For those who do not know, Firestar's father was stabbed by Spiral and almost died (Marvel Comics Presents). Randall was Firestar's bodyguard when she was at the Mass. Academy and died in her arms after warning her of the White Queen's plans._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Firestar, Justice, Nova or any of the New Warriors (if I did things would be different). I am not making any profit from the below._

Rich ran down the path. Sometimes he had to get out of the gym. Because of the early hour and overcast sky, the trail was deserted. While he missed the babes, he enjoyed the stillness and the quiet. He turned a bend in the path and stopped.

Ang? He thought, looking at the red head stretching a few yards away. The woman wore a t-shirt and shorts, her long, curly, red hair pulled back into a ponytail. He couldn't see her face, but it looked like 'Star. He stayed back, moving so he was out of her line of sight. None of the Warriors, not even Vance, had seen her for weeks. After Vance had asked if anyone had seen her, they had checked her locker at the Crash Pad and found her uniform along with a note that simply read, "I quit". Furious and worried, Vance had gone to her house, only to discover that her father had rented the place out. The renter refused to give Vance a forwarding address. Apparently, "I quit" also referred to her relationship with Vance.

Everyone had been confused, angry, and worried. He had wondered if the Upstarts incident had anything to do with it, but Vance maintained Angel had been fine, and he was the one who would know. No one had seen or talked to her. Give her space, was Thrash's opinion. Rich hadn't been so sure.

The woman stopped stretching and stared to jog off. It _was _Angel. He moved after her, trailing behind, unsure if he should call her name. He wanted an explanation for her behavior. They ran for about ten minutes, until she put a foot wrong and went sprawling down onto the path. He stopped, kept his distance, and waited for her to get up.

Angel pushed herself onto her knees. It hadn't been much of a fall, just a few scrapes, but the sudden sting brought tears to her eyes. She cradled her right hand, looking at the angry red cuts filled with dirt and feeling the sting. The stress of the last year hit her. Before she knew it, the tears started to fall. She couldn't stop them. She hugged herself, trying to breath deeply to stop the tears, but they would not stop.

"Red?" someone said before placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "You okay?"

Rich What was he doing here?

She tried to wipe the tears off her face. "I'm fine," she forced out, refusing to meet his eyes as he knelt down next to her, "It was just the shock of the fall."

With one finger, he gently raised her head so he could look in her green eyes. "No, you're not," he replied.

That was all it took. All she could do was sob, angry sobs that shook her whole body.

"Aw, Red," Rich pulled her into his arms; she struggled for a minute, but than gave in. His questions could wait. He had never seen her quite like this, not when Vance had gone off to the Vault, not when her father had been shot, and not when Jupiter had been raped. He looked around. The jogging path was still empty, but the clouds had grown darker and denser. He gently picked her up, had she always been this light, and before she could protest, flew back to his new apartment.

They arrived at his door just before it started to rain. Angel had calmed down. "Where?"

'My place, Angie," he replied as he put her down before opening the door.

The room was small with an even smaller attached kitchen. A bed, a couch that had seen better days, a table, a few chairs, weights, a TV, a dresser with his clothes stacked upon it, and a closet. A carpet the color of a hairball topped it off. "Take a seat on the couch," he said ushering her inside and making sure she sat down before he got a glass of water. He pressed it into her hands and went to his small bathroom where he wetted two washcloths, and grabbed some aspirin and his first aid kit. He gave her the aspirin, making sure that she swallowed them, before he handed her one wash cloth for her face. He pulled up a chair and began to clean out her scrapes.

"I can do that," Angel said putting down the glass and reaching for the cloth.

He shook his head. "What's going on Red? Where have you been? Why did you leave? Don't you know how upset Vance has been?" The questions came out harsher than he had intended, and she winced. For a moment, he thought she was going to bolt. Just in case, he gripped her wrist as he began to clean the scrape on her right palm.

"It's . . . "she began and stopped.

He looked at her. She looked exhausted, her green eyes dull, and her posture beaten down. The last of his anger faded. "Red, I'm your friend. I want to know what's going on. Going off without a word isn't like you. I didn't mean to sound angry, but we've all been worried."

She looked down at her hands, still refusing to meet his eyes for very long. "It's everything." She shrugged. "I . . . "she faltered. He waited. It seemed as if she were only trying to find the words.

"I'm sorry to have left like that. I tried talking to Thrash, but . . . "she trailed off.

He put a band aid on her knee before moving to sit next to her on the couch. "Why did you leave?"

She bowed her head, and he found himself glad that her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. It couldn't give her the curtain to hide behind that usually did.

"It was . . . too much. Dad losing his job and then getting shot attacked for the second time because of me. There was so much blood." She looked down at her hands as if she could still see the blood on them.

He didn't say anything. He hadn't known that Angel's dad had been hurt before.

"Then when Vance got out of jail, it seemed as if things would get better. But they didn't. He left, and then we found out about the whole Upstarts," she stopped, her fingers of her left hand moving to pick at the band aid on her right palm.

"Is it what Vance asked you to do?" Rich asked, reaching out to stop her fingers before they tore the bandage off. He had never felt right with that whole thing. He couldn't ever do that to Nita.

She nodded, "Partly. First it was the White Queen, then Empath. I hated feeling like that, totally controlled by someone. It's . . . hell. Then Vance asked me to go though it all over again, for the greater good. I didn't matter," this last came out bitterly. "After Dad got shot too, and it was my fault. If . .. "

"Don't go there, Red. It's not your fault." He put his arm around her shoulders. "After the Upstarts," he prompted.

She twisted her hands. "I felt dirty. Being controlled like that again, and no matter how many times. .. "She sighed. "School, work, the Warriors, feeling like . . . taking care of Dad, " She paused. "He wanted me to quit. He was worried about me, about himself. He was angry at Vance over the Upstarts. He wasn't too happy with my choice to study painting either. It was too much. I couldn't sleep." She paused again. "I use to think I could hide what I was. But after Nova Roma, after the Sphinx, I knew better. I wanted to stay, but with everything, with the pressure, I felt like I was being torn apart between my dad, the Warriors, my desire to paint. I couldn't give up painting, and Dad is the only family I have left. Quitting the Warriors eased some of Dad's worries. We didn't fight as much." She was crying again, quietly now. She felt horribly guilty about leaving. No matter what she did, she was letting someone down.

He hadn't known. "Did you talk to Vance? Nita?"

She shook her head. "Nita and I aren't close friends, and with everything she's been though. And Vance. I tried, but I every time I began it was always 'We'll talk later' or 'thanks for being there Angel' or 'I've a paper due'. I felt like . .He just wanted things, me, to be . . . I didn't really matter as long as I was there," she paused. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Shh, Red. It's okay," he rubbed her back. He could feel the tension in her shoulders. "When did you get a full night's sleep?"

"I can't remember. Every time I close my eyes, I see my father, the blood, Randall, the Upstarts, and everything else."

He pulled her into a hug, "Okay, Red. It's okay." For ten minutes, he mumbled all the comforting words he knew, several times. Finally, he realized that she had fallen asleep. Slowly, he lowered her down onto the couch and covered her with a blanket. Poor kid. Picking up the glass, he returned it the kitchen, and then took the first aid and wash cloths back to the bathroom where he changed into a pair of jeans.

He sat down on one of the chairs, so he could keep an eye on Angel and think. He felt guilty. He, they, should have realized what Angel was going though. They had all been so busy or worried about Rage. They hadn't thought. He winced as he remembered that none of them had offered Angel any help when her father had been released from the hospital. Had Vance even helped? He didn't think so, at least from what Angel had and hadn't said. Angel, of all the Warriors, was the supportive one, the caring one, the kind one, the giving one, the nice one. The one who could keep going without the darkness dragging her down. She didn't complain. She stood by all of them. It hadn't occurred to any of them that she needed help.

He had forgotten that there were other types of battles.

What to do? Tell Vance?

He couldn't shake the image of her trying to talk and being shut down, pushed away. Why hadn't she come to him? Because, his inner self replied, she knew you were worried about Nita and your own family. The member she was always closest to was Vance.

He was still trying to think things though when Angel woke up. With a panicky expression on her face, she glanced around his room.

"Its okay, Red; your virtue is intact." Not his best joke, but he wanted to get her to smile.

She didn't. "What time is it?"

"Eight thirty. You weren't asleep that long, twenty minutes at the most."

She got up off the couch and started to his door. "I've got to get back. I need to get ready for work."

He stopped her before she reached door, "Where do you work?"

"Monet's. An art store. Why?"

He knew it. "I want to make sure you're okay," he said.

"I'm fine. I was just tired. Thank you," she replied moving to the door.

He would've believe her if it wasn't for the fact that her eyes were still slightly puffy and edged with weariness. "Let me get you a cab," he said. "Don't argue. I'll pay for it. No arguing," he finished as she opened her mouth to protest.

He saw her into the cab before returning to his apartment. He ran his hand though his hair. He should tell someone. Thrash? Nita? Toothpick? Maybe they could work something out. They were supposed to be a team after all. Should he tell Vance? How could Vance, of all people, miss what was happening to Angel? He had been willing to sacrifice her, why hadn't Vance seen what it had done to her? Hell, he wasn't sure what to do.

There was a knock at the door. He opened it. "Hey," he said just before Vance's fist slammed into his face.

Sprawled on his floor, Rich took a quick inventory of his teeth. He decided that Thursday ranked right up there with Mondays, which was a shame because he used to like Thursday. "One is all you get Super-Tights," he said softly watching the man in front of him. His friend seemed momentary shocked that he had actually thrown a punch.

Vance slammed the door shut with a telekinetic push. "How long?" he raged.

"What?" Rich got to his feet, his brain clicking slowly into gear, "Geez, it's not like that."

"Then what was she doing here?"

"You're living with my girlfriend, why don't you tell me?" Damm it was not a good day. "Angie's like my kid sister for crying out loud. It would be like you with Nita."

Vance's shoulders slumped. "Then what was she doing here? You said you hadn't seen her."

"I hadn't, not until today. Saw her when I was jogging this morning. She fell. That's it."

Vance stared at him for a minute before moving to stand next to the only window. "How is she?"

Rich walked over to his fridge and pulled himself a glass of juice, "It was just a few scrapes. No need for stitches."

"That's not what I meant," some of the anger returned to Vance's voice. "Is she okay? Did she say anything?"

Rich drank his juice, stalling for time. Leaning on the counter and studying his friend, he replied, "No, she's not okay. She said quite a bit, at least for her."

Vance bowed his head before looking at Rich, "I'm sorry about that," he said gesturing to Rich's face. "I saw her come out and just thought."

"Yeah, lucky for you I still have all my teeth, otherwise Nita would've kicked your ass."

Vance flashed a fake smile, "Where is she?"

Rich sighed. He knew he should have asked her that. She had told the cab driver, but he hadn't heard. "I'm not sure where she is staying. I only know where she works." Vance looked over at him, "But I don't think showing up there is a good idea." He was finally getting feeling back in his jaw. "Why did you do it?"

Vance didn't respond; he just stared out the window.

"Do you still care for her Super-Tights? Because if you do, you need to stop being an ass. She needs some one to fall on." Rich walked over to his stack of clothes and found a clean shirt. It seemed like the shower was lost idea. He should head over to Nita's, see what she thought. He pulled the black t-shirt over his head, "She stood by you and then you pushed her away. That's a fact. You should have made it up to her after the Upstarts. If you don't still care for her, then you owe me more than one beer."


	2. Chapter 2

Angel walked the last couple yards to her building, and saw Mrs. Thompson struggling with her shopping cart again. "Here, let me help," Angel took a hold of the cart and pulled it up the steps for her downstairs neighbor.

"Thank you, Angel." Mrs. Thompson climbed the small flight and held the door open. "I'll be making some fresh pasta if you want to stop by for dinner tomorrow. Girls your age are so skinny." Angel pulled the cart in though the door. The two of them walked down the hallway to Mrs. Thompson's door. "Did you hear about Mr. Gibson? He's moving, thank goodness. Said he was tired of not getting his channel. As if that is anything worth watching."

Angel smiled. Everyone in the building knew about Mr. Gibson's taste in x-rated entertainment for he watched it every night with the volume turned up as high as it would go and refused all requests to turn it down. She had finally, after a week of the noise, used her microwaves to scramble the signal without disrupting too much else.

She climbed up the three flights to her room. More colorful than Rich's place, it was so small that it couldn't hold anymore than her easel, draft board, bed, small bookcase, radio, two chairs, and a table. The kitchen ran along one wall. She barely had room for Pumpkin. Thankfully, it had a built closest with drawers or she wouldn't have a place for clothes. She fed the cat before stepping into the shower.

Standing under the water, she thought. She had said too much to Rich. But it had felt so good to talk to someone who would listen and understand.

But seeing Rich reminded her of how much she missed them. Sil, Nita, Rich, Elwin, Robbie, she even missed Dwayne. Vance. She scoured her skin as if she could wipe away the memories.

She felt that she had made a mistake the minute she had closed the door to her locker. She knew that things would pass. But with her father hounding her about the Warriors, Vance, and her painting; with Vance brushing her off, the lack of sleep, with her own feelings of guilt, of inadequacy, of anger, of the fear that she would cave to her father about giving up her art, and most of the all the overwhelming feeling that Frost had been right when she compared the Warriors to Hellions.

She hadn't known what else to do. At the least, quitting the Warriors had eased her father's worries.

Perhaps she should have knocked him out, tied him to a chair and forced him to talk to her. Perhaps things would have been different.

She got out the showering. Toweling her hair, she walked into the rest of her apartment. Her eyes feel on the covered painting she was currently working on. When she painted, put brush to canvas, every insecurity fell away. The sound of her brush, the colors, the placement of each stoke; it was easy. Painting was her salvation. Her talent had helped when Vance had been in jail, when her father had lost his job and been shot. It had won a scholarship to college and earned her money to afford this apartment. She couldn't give it up, despite her father's worries about her finical future.

It would have been nice to have celebrated those sales with someone other than her father and Jupiter. She looked at the clock. She had to leave soon. Just keeping moving and everything would be fine in the end.

Vance stood across the street from Angel's building feeling like some demented stalker. He should have brought flowers, at least it would have given him something to hold on to. After his conservation with Rich, he had gone to the Crash Pad to use the computer. Finding where she lived hadn't been that hard. A simple change of address form for the post office had led him here. He had been half relieved when there had been no answer to his ring, and the machine had clicked on. It would give him time to rehearse what he wanted to say.

If he had brought flowers, she could get hit him over the head with them. He deserved a lot more than that.

He should have talked to her earlier, but each time he showed up at her school, and saw her lost in her painting or talking to someone in her class, he chickened out.

Finally. He could see her walking down the street. Her head was down, and she seemed lost in thought. Even without speaking to her, he could see that she was depressed and in pain, though still beautiful. He hated seeing her this hurt, hated knowing that he had caused part of it.

He crossed the street and came up behind her as she started climbing the steps to her building. "Angelica," he called out.

Startled, she turned, one foot on the steps. Her eyes widened when she saw him, "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Seeing the wounded look in her eyes drove all his speeches out of his mind, "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

She moved closer to him, coming off of the steps. The look of anger on her face contrasted sharply with her "Beware of Flying Monkeys" t-shirt. "You're sorry. And that's supposed to make everything okay? I'm suppose to, what, follow you back to the Warriors like a good little puppy, wagging my tail for a pat on the head? I don't think so. You can find someone else." Ignoring his wince, she turned her back on him. Weeks ago, she would have given anything to hear those words, but now?

Vance reached out and grabbed her arm, gently but firmly. He would be damned if he let her walk out of his life again. "Angel, wait. Please."

She yanked her arm out of his grasp and did not turn to face him, but she waited.

He ran a hand though his brown hair. "Look, can we go somewhere and talk?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

They ended up sitting on a deserted bench in a nearby park. She had coldly refused his offer of an early dinner. Instead, they had stopped at a coffee shop (he wanted something to hold on to) where she quickly paid for her tea before he could get his wallet out. She sat with her arms resting on her legs, her hands wrapped around her cup of tea, and her eyes staring resolutely out at the park, watching the dog walkers, couples, and children. He sat as close as he dared, which wasn't as close as he would have liked. He twirled his coffee cup in his hands as he tried to remember what he had planned to say. "I'm sorry," he began.

She snorted. "You already said that. You're sorry for what? All of it? For lying to me? For pressuring me into giving myself up to the Upstarts? For shutting me out afterwards? For not being there? Fine. You're sorry. Is that it?"

He stopping twirling the cup and held it gently in his hands as he looked across the park and wondered if he had already lost her. "No, that's not it. I shouldn't have pushed you away. I shouldn't have treated you like that. After the Vault, seeing you that first day, you were stronger, more confident, even more beautiful, and I became afraid . . ." he paused trying to choose the right words.

"Afraid of what?" she said softly, in the tone she had used when he had first told her about his father so long ago.

He turned to look at her, his brown eyes meeting her green ones. "Afraid that you would leave. That you deserved better. My mother. My father. Everyone who ever said they loved me left me in one way or another. I was terrified that you would too. I thought that if I could push you away first, it would hurt less. I was wrong. Do you understand?"

She nodded; she could understand that. She looked at her hands which had a death grip on the tea "I wasn't going anywhere. But I needed you. Really needed you and you brushed me off. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? And with the whole Upstarts, with what you said, it felt," her hands clenched the tea tighter and she looked at the park; her loose hair sliding forward to hide her profile, "It felt like you were no different than Frost. That it was about control, using me. It felt like you didn't care."

He putted down his coffee; it wasn't like he was going to drink it anyway. Tentatively, he reached out a brushed her hair away from her face. When she didn't jerk away, he wiped away a tear that was making its way down her face. "I care. I always did. The thing with the Upstarts, afterwards, when we were sitting there with Cable, I realized, or started to, what I had risked."

"You had risked?" she interrupted, tilting her head away from him.

"You," he replied. He didn't say anything for a few moments. "Then you seemed to forgive me, and I felt worse. It all came back to that fear of losing you and of becoming my father."

"You aren't your father. You never will be," she cut in, looking at him again.

He nodded. His father, he knew, would not have sat here and had this conversation. "Then you left. I was angry at myself, worried about you. I realized how much I loved you. All I could think of was how to get you back." He saw her look of doubt, "But I didn't think you would listen. I'm sorry. I know I keep saying it. But I am sorry. Can you forgive me?"

She looked away, "I don't know. If I say yes, what happens then? Is anything really going to change?"

"Things will. I don't care if you go back to the Warriors. I know I have to take this slowly. That you'll have to trust me again. But I just want a second chance."

She didn't say anything but just looked over the park. He knew he hadn't offered anything besides words. Just words, and right now, she most likely thought his words were empty. What proof could he give her? "I saw the exhibit," he said finally, referring to the art show her college had put on. "My favorite was the one with Arthur finding Lancelot and Guinevere, just before he is about to put the sword between them." The look of indecision, the spilt moment between desire to harm and the desire to do right, she had captured in the king's face had spoken to him. "You should be proud that you sold all three."

She finally turned to face him, her eyes searching his face, "I thought you didn't know."

Inside, he winced. He had known the show was important. He should have told her. He gently took her hand and waited.

"I don't know," she said. "I can't promise anything." But he felt her fingers slowly curl around his.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, until she gently removed her hand. "I need to get back. I've got some work to do."

Somewhat disappointed, Vance asked, "Can I walk you back?" To his delight, she nodded.

At the door to her building, he asked, "Can I stop by tomorrow? Maybe we can get a bite to eat?"

"Maybe. I need to think," she replied before going into her building.

The minute Angel opened the door to her apartment, someone grabbed her arm, pulled her into the room, and pushed her to the floor. The lights came up. The feet she was looking at were encased in a pair of expensive looking leather shoes. She could see Pumpkin's green eyes staring at her from under the bed. Strangely, she thought that she should get a dog. This wouldn't have happened if Pumpkin had been a dog. She raised her head. The feet belonged to well dressed, dark haired man who stood before her. He had no weapon, though he had that "I'm a nice guy until you don't do what I say" air about him.

"Angelica Jones," he said in a well educated voice. "Do you know where your mother is?"

There were three other men in the room. These men, she noted, had guns and earpieces. She looked at the man in front of her, "My mother is dead."

"Legally, yes. Technically, no." He pulled a picture from his jacket and handed it to her.

It was a recent picture. The woman in it had fading blonde hair, green eyes. Angel studied the picture. Her eyes sliding over to the frame photo on the bookcase of her as a child with Nana, Dad, and her mother and than back to the picture in her hand. From this distance, the bone structure looked the same. It could be her mother. It could be photo shopped.

She was getting really tired of everyone else knowing what was going on beside her.

She couldn't fight here. Not with Mrs. Thompson and the others below. "This isn't my mother. And this is a sick joke," she replied angrily.

He gently helped her to her feet and searched her face for a few minutes. "I believe you know nothing about this, Miss Jones. I believe that this news is unexpected and shocking for you. Nonetheless, I assure that it is the truth. But sadly, you must come with us. If we have you, we can control your mother. Is there a back door to your building?" Every word was said calmly as if they were having a pleasant chat over dinner.

"My mother is dead," she repeated.

"Miss Jones," the man, the leader, moved closer, towering over her small frame. "We don't really want to hurt you, but we will if we need to. Is there a back door?"

She folded the picture and slid it into the pocket of her jeans. Feigning submission, she replied. "This way."

The leader was kind enough to close and lock her door after leaving her apartment. He even handed her the keys. She led them out of the building. The back door opened into a small yard with a gate that opened into the alley. When they reached the end of the block, she let out a quick, small pulse. She had been practicing these on Mr. Gibson's TV.

"Sir," one of the man said, "I've lost contact with . . . "but he couldn't finish because she had hit him with a microwave pulse.

Her second blast took out the man next to her. The last man tired to shot her, but her shield melted the bullet and then he was on the ground. Two more blasts and the other guns were melted. She turned to the leader who had watched it all.

Stephen watched his niece easily take out his men. So Samantha's beautiful daughter was a mutant like him. Who would have thought. Interesting. He always liked surprises. Let's see how tough she is.

Vance sat on his bike, his helmet in his hand; his light jacket unzipped. It hadn't been a rousing welcome. But she hadn't flashed him with her powers either. He put on his helmet. She had been hesitant. But there was hope. It would take time, but she seemed somewhat receptive. It was a start

_Fzzzeeek!_

He knew that sound. His eyes scanned the sky, where?

_Fzzzeeeek!_

He left his bike and took to the air.

"What do you know about my mother?" she yelled as she dodged yet another blast.

Stephen smiled to himself as he dodged her return. Such a shame that Bartholomew had raised her. Together, they could . . . .Damn! That last one had been a bit too close. The girl was surprising good. But it was time to end it. He let loss with a strong barrage, not strong enough to kill her, but enough to stun.

She dodged them. Easily. Then suddenly, she shifted her attack. Instead of aiming for him, her blast cut though one of his own, and she came flying in after. He barely got his hands up in time. His hands grasped hers. It was a foolish move; he was physically stronger than she was. He started to push down on her, then stopped uncertain. What was she doing?

Grasping the man's hands, Angel began to draw the power into her. She hoped this worked. His power seemed to be similar to hers, so if she could absorb microwaves, tap into that power, surely she could siphon off his. Right?

The three men were on the ground, looking above them as they unsteadily gained their feet were blasted off their by a telekinetic blast. Vance looked up. Angel and a man were locked in a struggle, energy radiating out of them. The light pulsed, sometimes stronger on Angel's side, sometimes on the other. It was like a circuit. Suddenly there was flash of light, so bright that he had to shield his eyes. The two combatants went flying apart, flying uncontrollably though the air. Vance reached out with his mind and slowed Angel's wild flight before stopping it completely. She seemed okay.

Stephen was thrown away from his niece. After a few seconds, he stopped his fall. His men were leaving, and he didn't feel like fighting two mutants. He shifted to light form and took off quickly. They had missed some information about his niece. He needed to find out more about her.


	3. Chapter 3

"Did you see where he went?" Angel asked as Vance flew over to her.

He shook his head, "What's going on? Who was that?"

She looked at for a moment, about to answer, but then, "Dad!" she said, taking off for her apartment.

Holding to the phone to her ear, she pulled a framed photo off the wall. Her father's voice mail clicked on, "Dad when you get this message, call me." She looked at the clock. He was two hours behind her, so he would still be at work yet. She removed the photo from the frame. Taking the photo from her jeans pocket, she unfolded it and laid it next to the other one.

"Angel," Vance said as he watched her. "Are you okay?"

"He said my mother was alive," she replied. "Gave me her picture."

Vance studied the pictures, "You said your mother was dead."

"She . . ." Angel shrugged gesturing to the pictures.

He looked over the photos. There was a resemblance. It could be the same woman. "Angel, we should get back to the Crash Pad. They could come back. We can figure out what do from there."

She shook her head. Her mind was racing, but she knew in her gut that going to the Crash Pad, while the safest option, was the wrong option. It would take too much time and waste what little advantage she had. She moved to her closest and took out a duffel bag. She grabbed some clothes and put them into the bag. Should she wear or take her old costume?

"What are you doing?" Vance's question interrupted her train of thought.

"Packing. What does it look like?" She threw a comb and other toiletries in the bag. After she checked out Dover, should she head over to her father's?

This is not good, Vance thought. "I can see that. Where are you going?"

"Dover. It's where she's buried. I want to see."

He thought it over, "They'll be expecting. ... "

"I know," she cut him off. "But I should have some time. They didn't know I was mutant. If I can get there first." She began to put cans of cat food into a plastic bag.

"It's safer to. ... "

"You were willing to let Shaw do anything to me, but I can't do this?" she all but shouted at him.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. With one arm around her waist, holding her against him, he raised her head with one hand so he could look into her eyes. "Do you believe that?" he asked softly, "When . .. "

"You said all our lives if that is what it took," she interrupted. She placed her hands on his chest. Fearful that she had been overreacting, she had thought about the whole issue for weeks. "You're right. Sometimes sacrifice is called for. We willingly risked our lives for Rich, and he for a whole world. But having my mind raped again. For what? Sacrifice isn't pleasant for anyone," the images of Randall dying in her arms and of her father's blood came into her mind. "It's not easy. It shouldn't be done lightly. And you and Thrash seemed so quick to rush me towards it, without considering any other option. After everything else that we had lost. If that's how you see justice, then it's an obsession. An obsession with getting justice at any cost is no different than revenge, Vance."

"I know that now," he said, his fingers gently stroking her cheek. The image of Shaw laying claim to her and the fear that he would not be able to protect her still haunted him. "When Shaw touched you, I wanted to send him flying. If he had touched you again, I would have. I could see everything going wrong. And then with the Gamesmaster and the guilt of that." He paused. "We should have had this conversation earlier."

Those last words broke the spell. "We should have," Angel said as she pushed herself away from him, "but we didn't."

The absence of her warmth against his body made the room seem suddenly cold. "And this isn't an obsession? You're thinking rationally?" he replied without anger, simply trying to get her to think.

She pulled Pumpkin out from under the bed. "Maybe not. But if this man was telling the truth, if she is still alive. If how I remember her isn't false, something won't be at her vault. I have to see while I still have time."

He watched as she put Pumpkin in the cat carrier. "You'll going to fly down?"

She nodded, "It's close enough." Definitely the costume.

He sighed, "Okay. I'm going with you. Unless you rather have Rich or Nita. Either way, you're not going alone. We can stop at Nita's on the way."

It didn't take them long to reach Dover. After Angel dropped off Pumpkin at Mrs. Thompson's, they had flown over to Nita's. Rich, to Vance's surprise, had been wary about the whole thing. Nita, on the other hand, agreed with Angel's decision, though the Sub-Marnier had not been happy to see Angel back in her old costume. "I thought you got rid of that thing, "she had said.

They hovered over the cemetery. "There doesn't seem to be anyone around," Justice said. The night was cool and cloudy.

"Then let's go," Firestar replied.

A quick flash of her mutant power disabled the security system, while his unlocked the door. "Which crypt is your mother's?" he whispered as they stepped foot inside the building.

"That one," she pointed. Her power was the only light in the building.

Justice easily opened the small vault and then moved aside to let Angel look in. It held a small vase and nothing else. "It's not here," she said.

"What isn't?" he whispered. He knew it was silly, but he couldn't help himself.

"When we buried her, I put a small stuffed animal in here. She gave it to me before she . . . She said it would make sure I had pleasant dreams. When she died, I thought she needed it more. I put it in here. It's not here. Neither is the picture that Dad put in."Ten down, author of "The Man from Snowy River". Ralph thought. He knew it was Banjo something. Banjo Peters. No. Pilers. No. Pliers. No, that wasn't it either.

God, he hated this job. Monitor the bloody cemetery. It was so boring.

Wait. His screen was snowy. He almost shouted out in joy. Finally something. He put aside his crossword. Patterson that was it! His fingers moved across the keyboard. Most of the system had been compromised and was off line. Perhaps the long range cameras were still working. They were on a different circuit. He switched over. He couldn't see much. He waited. He saw two people leave. Super-heroes or something for they flew off. He zoomed in. Rewound the tape. Watched them leave again. He checked the profile. Watched the tape once more.

Finally he picked up the phone. "Mrs. Jones? I think your daughter knows."


	4. Chapter 4

"It's quite easy dear," her mother said. "All you have to do is try." They were standing in the kitchen of the first house that Angelica could remember. Her mother wanted her to use her powers to cook dinner. Angel reached out with her power and smoke rose from the chicken.

Suddenly, the scene shifted. Frost's training room replaced the warm comfort of the kitchen. "Very good," her mother said, "Now kill them." She pointed to the men who entered the room: Randall, her father, and Vance. Protesting, Angel turned back to look at her mother and received a hard slap across the face. Her mother turned into Frost, "Do what I say!" she yelled, "Or I'll make you do it." Try as she might, Angel couldn't stop the power from flowing out of her. It hit the three men. She saw the charred bodies and heard their dying screams. Frost, her mother, both women were laughing. Someone, somewhere else, was screaming.

"Angelica! Wake Up!" A voice called. Someone was grabbing her.

She woke up. Vance's arms were around her, pulling her close. "It's okay," he murmured. "It's just a dream." Slowly her eyes registered the hotel room that Vance had insisted on, pointing out that it was too late and too impractical to fly all the way to her father's after he had returned her call. They were both too tired, Vance had said. She could make out the dresser, TV, table, chairs, and the second bed with the covers hastily thrown back. She must have woken him. She wished the dreams would stop. Shaking, she leaned into him. It had been so long since she had been held like this; she had forgotten how good it felt.

The light coming though the crack in the drapes woke him. Vance reached out with his mind and pulled the drapes all the way closed. His body was spooned against Angel, one arm draped over her waist. He raised his head to look at the clock. 7 am. They could sleep a bit more. He looked down at her, gently brushing her hair off her face. She should sleep more. It had taken over an hour for her to fall back asleep after the nightmare, and while she hadn't woken again, her sleep hadn't been peaceful. Truth be told, he hadn't been sleeping that well either. It was one reason why he hadn't returned to the other bed, that and the fact that her sleep seemed less restless when he held her. Though, perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part. Sleep for another half hour, forty-five minutes. Then call Rich and get some breakfast before heading to her father's. Make sure she ate more for breakfast than she had for dinner. Talk with her. Listen to her, he thought.

Maybe he should change his major and become a much needed therapist for super-heroes. He laid his head book on the pillow.

There was a knock on the door.

"What?" Angel asked as she woke up.

"Someone's at the door," he whispered into her ear. "Yes," he called out as he moved off the bed.

"Miss Jones, Mr. Astrovik, I would like to talk to both of you," a female voice replied.

Vance looked over at Angel who had moved to stand at the edge of the bed. A position that gave her a direct shot at the door. She shrugged. "It isn't anyone from last night."

"Who are you?" he asked as he peered out the peephole. The woman was short with dark hair. Young, but older than him.

"Siobhan Velucci. I work for Miss Jones' mother. Frankly, even with my gun, either of you is quite capable of killing me. I just want to speak to Miss Jones. You can hold my gun if it will make you feel better."

He looked over at Angel who nodded. He opened the door, and Siobhan entered the room. "I'm going to get my gun and hand it over, okay?" she said, looking at Vance. Slowly, making sure that they didn't view the movement as a threat, she pulled the gun out of the shoulder hostler hidden by her jacket. She than put her shoulder bag down on the bed. "I'm going to take something out. It's not a gun, so don't fry me." She looked first to Angel, and then to Vance. When neither one said anything, she opened the bag and withdrew a small stuffed tiger that she held out to Angel. "Your mother said to tell you thank you, and that it still works."

Angel reached out and took the stuffed animal. It was worn, but it was the one that she had put in her mother's vault. Even after so many years, she could remember the slightly out of sequence stripes. "She's alive."

Siobhan nodded, though it hadn't been a question, "She would like to speak with you, but that is your decision. Personally, I can understand if you tell her to shove it up her ass. She's a good boss, but...," she finished with a shrug.

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Vance asked, "How did you find us?"

Siobhan shifted her gaze to him. "We were made aware of you when you left the cemetery. In addition, your super-hero and civilian identities are known to us, and it is easy for us to access hotel records," She took note of Vance's narrowed eyes, the slight shift in Angel's stance, and spoke faster. "Look, Mr. Astrovik, it's not like you and your legal troubles haven't been in the news. And, well, we have an inside source for Miss Jones. Though, it isn't too hard, if you know how to use your brain, to match a super-hero couple to a real life couple. Especially, when the two of you were spending time together, at least until recently. Rumor was that you two split, though that seems to be incorrect, and that's not really any of my business, so I'll just be quiet about it," this last came out in a rush.

She needn't have worried; both Angel and Vance had focused on only one sentence. "My father knows?" Angel asked.

Siobhan nodded. "Should you deicide to see your mother, she'll explain. If not, your father will."

Vance looked over at Angel. She had drawn into herself. "Who was it that attacked her last night?"

Siobhan looked confused, "I have no idea. We weren't aware of anything until you left the cemetery."

"His powers were like mine," Angel said, her voice was tense.

Siobhan whistled, "Stephen, it must have been. Though why he would . . . and how he found out that . . . I take it he didn't know you were a mutant? He always did like to rush into things. It's what got him into trouble."

"Who is he?" Angel repeated. When Siobhan opened her mouth to reply, she added, "Don't. Tell. Me. That. My. Mother. Will. Explain. It."

Siobhan smiled, "Can't blame you for getting tired of hearing that so quickly. He's your uncle. Your mother's brother. He worked with her. Left long before anyone knew you were a mutant. Strange that he would go after you now. Don't worry; we'll take care of him." She saw the doubting looks from both mutants. "Hey, when I'm confronted by superior fire power, I fight very, very dirty." She paused for a second, looking like she was mentally drawing up battle plans. Then shook herself, "Look, we'll wasting time. If you want to see your mother, she will be at the coffee shop at Second and Main in forty-five minutes. Remember, it's your choice entirely. Just don't fry her, no matter how much she deserves it, because that will cause all sorts of problems, and I might not get paid." She looked at the two of them, making sure that she would be allowed to leave and then taking her gun before she opened the door and left.

Angel sat down on the edge of the bed, resting her chin on her hand. For a few moments, she debated with the idea of abandoning everything and moving to Timbuktu, Australia, Maine. Just take Pumpkin and start over. Leave everyone and everything behind.

But that wasn't the responsible thing to do. She knew that sooner or later because of what she could do that she would be found by someone. When she had left Frost, she had been found. When she had left the Warriors, she had been found. She realized that the normal life she longed for, she would never have simply because of who she was and what she could do.

"What are you going to do?" Vance asked quietly, watching her face, wondering what she had been thinking.

The question drew her back to the here and now, and the most immediate problem that had to be solved. "I'll see her," she answered though she hadn't realized that she had reached that decision until she spoke the words.

The coffee shop wasn't that crowded. Despite the fact that it served a good variety of food, it was mostly filled with people going in and out. Before entering, the two super-heroes checked out the building. As Angel and Vance entered, they scanned the room. They noticed Siobhan sitting in the back, near the emergency exit with Angel's mother and a man. It was Angel's mother who noticed them first. She said something, and Siobhan and the man got up and walked over. "Good morning," Siobhan said as if she hadn't seen them forty-five minutes earlier. "This is Michael. Why don't we buy Vance breakfast and keep an eye on everything, while you," she addressed Angel. "Speak to your mother. Just remember, no frying. Though if you want, I'll shot her in knee." This last earned her a wary glance from Vance.

Her mother looked like she wanted to get up and hug her. Angel was thankful that the woman did not. She didn't think that she would be able to handle it. And it was her mother in the living flesh. Older, more lines. But that half hidden smile was there, the same eyes, the same mouth. The hair was lighter. Studying her mother as she studied painting subjects, Angel took a seat across from the woman. Her mother stared at her, "I'm sorry for staring. I didn't think I would see you again," her mother said. It was the same voice.

"Why? What is this all about?" Angel asked. She couldn't think of anything else to say. She dug her nails into the palm of her hands. She refused to cry or to shout.

Her mother sighed and spread her hands out on the table top, picking at a small spot. "You shouldn't blame your father. It's not his fault. We couldn't tell you because you were so young when I had to disappear. And then, when you were older, it was just easier to keep to the story."

"You should've told me," Angel responded angrily, "You both lied to me. It was cruel!"

Her mother nodded. "You're right. We were selfish." The older woman glanced around the coffee shop. Her fingers moving to trace the logo on a coffee mug. "It's my fault, my job. It got too dangerous, and with Stephen. And I thought that it would be best if everyone thought I was dead. Your father didn't, but I was too worried about you and him to consider anything else."

"What job? What's so important that you could have just walked away?" She kept her voice pitched low, but it was filled with anger and hurt.

"It wasn't like that. You've met Stephen. I'm not a mutant. I'm not even a good shot." Her mother paused, "My job is hard to explain. It's not like what you do, if that's what you're thinking. Not really. I can't tell you the name; you shouldn't know." She took note of her daughter's disbelieving glance and reached out to stop Angel from leaving. "Trust me; I know that's rich coming from me. Think CIA, think Shield, think MI-5 and combine all of them. I had to leave, make everyone think I was dead because of the fact that Stephen had gone rogue, over to the other side as it were, and some other things as well."

"Who is Stephen?" Angel asked, her eyes watching her mother's face and trying to gauge whether or not to believe what she was hearing.

"He worked with us, until he . . . turned. He, most likely, wants information that he thinks I have. You're not to worry about him. We're looking for him now. We'll find him long before he finds you."

"And then what? You'll arrest him and take him to the Vault? With his power?" Angel said doubtfully.

"There are ways, as you no doubt know. You don't need to worry about it."

"I wish everyone would stop saying that and stop lying to me," Angel said bitterly, looking away from her mother, balling her hands into fists. The Warriors, her parents, Frost. She was tired of it. The only ones who had never really lied to her were Jupiter and Randall.

"It does sound rather empty, I have to admit," her mother replied, stopping herself from reaching out and touching her daughter again. "It's my fault he found you. I brought your _Ehrengard _painting. Or at least, the company did on my behalf. I wanted some connection to you besides the photos your father sent, and I love that book."

"I know," Angel replied, her tone softening. "Dad gave me all your old books. I read them countless times. It seemed the only way to remember you because of all . . . "

"My scribbles in the margins," her mother interrupted. "I have no idea where you get your artistic talent. And it is talent. Did you like _Ehrengard_?"

Angel nodded, and then because she had to know, "You and Dad talk?"

"Write in a very long drawn out snail mail alternate address, hidden person way, yes. I found out when you were a mutant, what happened when you went the Massachusetts Academy." She paused and added awkwardly, "I wanted to come back then"

"Why didn't you?" Angel asked, some of her anger returning. "It was. ... "

"Hell," her mother supplied, "I didn't because I thought it would make everything worse. You had so much to deal with. I remember what Stephen went though. It seemed unfair to burden you with even more," she took a sip of her coffee. "When your father told me you had joined the Warriors, I was proud. To overcome what had happened and join a group must have taken a great deal of strength." She looked over at Vance who was sitting with Siobhan and Michael, and trying not to look like he was looking at them, "Is that your young man?"

"It's complicated. Things with him and the Warriors are complicated," Angel replied, a note of sadness creeping into her voice, and she avoided looking back at Vance.

"He wouldn't be here if he didn't care," Her mother looked at her watch and then hesitantly at her daughter. "I would like to write to you, if you're okay with that," the words came out as a plea, "If you deicide that's what you want, tell your father and he'll set it up." She reached out and laid a hand on top of her daughter's. "I want to tell you a few things now that I have the change, even though I gave up that right. Please indulge me for I've thought about them for years. Despite what your father, and perhaps you, may wish, a "normal" life for you is impossible because of your power. I think you know that. But, and this is important, because of your power and who you are, you can earn a spot on any team that you want. Anywhere in the world. Despite your youth, any team would be glad to have you because you have experience and training. The choice is yours. If you aren't happy with the Warriors, leave them. Go some where else. Be happy. It's all any parent wants for their child." She got up from the table. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. The other thing you should know is that I'm proud of you." She squeezed her daughter's shoulder and left.


	5. Chapter 5

Slowly, Vance blinked his way back to consciousness. For a moment, he thought it was morning, and he reached out for Angel. No one. He sat up in the bed and looked around the room. It all came rushing back. Yesterday, the meeting with Angel's mother. Returning to the room, the panic when Angel had fallen, the prick of the tranquillizer dart, the desperation of trying to telekinetically hold off the drug while he hit the beacon.

Which lay on the floor, destroyed

Stephen.

How long had he been out? He looked at his watch. They had returned to the room around nine o'clock. It was now one. He picked up the phone and dialed.

"Vance!" Rich shouted so loudly that Vance was forced to hold the phone away from his ear. "Are you okay? Why didn't you check in? We've been worried. Let me put you on speaker. Nita's here."

As if he needed to be told that. Vance quickly told them what happened. "We couldn't find anything," Nita said after he had finished. "The only thing we could find was an obituary for Angel's mother. Car crash it said. "

"We'll come down and pick you up," Rich put in. "Toothpick and Rage aren't back yet. We left a message for Sil. Thrash is still MIA. But at least it won't just be you. Then we can knock some heads together."

"Whose heads, bucket head?" Nita asked.

There was quiet for a moment. "Good point," Rich mumbled. "We'll find someone. There must have been a reason why she picked that coffee shop."

"Because it was convenient?" Nita responded.

Vance wished his head would stop pounding. He couldn't take their bickering, flirting or whatever it was with a pounding head. What had Angel said?

Her father knew. "Guys, stop. Listen, this is the plan."

Vance stood before Mr. Jones' apartment door. Despite the fact he had betrayed Mr. Jones' trust, he wasn't nervous. Instead, he felt angry on Angel's behalf. How many times had he found her curled up in a chair reading one of her mother's books, trying to know the woman she could barely remember? One of the hardest things he had ever done was to turn his back on her when she had screamed his name. With this lie, her parents had done to her for years. She deserved better.

He rang the bell. According to Angel, it was Mr. Jones' half day, and, hopefully, he had returned from work.

The door opened, and he was confronted with an angry father. Before Mr. Jones could say anything, Vance spoke, "It's about Angelica . . ."

"She's not here," Mr. Jones interrupted his voice cold. "Considering how you treated her, you're lucky I don't . . . "he stopped himself. He couldn't bring himself to say I'll kick your ass to this kid. "I thought you were a good man, that Angel was safe hands with you. I was wrong. Leave now!" He started to close the door.

It was hard to close a door on telekinetic who wanted it open. "At least, I didn't lie to her about her mother," Vance replied. He didn't have time to be nice.

Mr. Jones stopped trying to push the door close. "Angel knows?" he asked softly, a mixture of sadness and resignation on his face.

Vance nodded, "There's more. Can you reach her mother?"

The call had been quickly placed, and at the moment, there was nothing left to do but wait. While Vance paced the length of the living room, Bartholomew sat on the couch and watched the phone. He had never used the emergency number before though he had been tempted when he had discovered his daughter was a mutant. He had decided long ago that if anything happened to him, Angel was better off not knowing about her mother. It might have been the wrong decision. He seemed to be making a lot of them lately. He glared at the phone hoping it would ring.

It didn't.

He shifted his gaze to the young man who was pacing in front of him. Bartholomew still wanted to kick the kid's ass for hurting his daughter. He doubted that Angel had given him the full story. He only knew that Vance had disappeared for over a week, upsetting Angel. When he asked, she said Vance needed time to think things out. He doubted the story. Then Vance returned, and Angel seemed even more depressed, upset, and tired. She had refused to tell him why. He knew it had something to do with the Vance and the Warriors. Pressuring her to leave the Warriors had come out of a desire to protect her; she had been though so much in such a short time that he felt she deserved peace. It hadn't helped much. Perhaps it had been the wrong thing to do. He had been wrong about the painting. He had been wrong about her mother. "Do you love my daughter?" he asked suddenly.

Vance stopped pacing and looked at him. "Yes," he said simply.

"Then why . . . "he started to ask.

"Because I was stupid," Vance replied as he resumed pacing.

The phone rang.

"Yes," Bartholomew said as he picked it up. "Okay." He held out the phone to Vance. "They want to talk to you."

"Yes," Vance said pressing the phone to his ear. He listened. He controlled the urge to throw the phone across the room.

Mr. Jones was on his feet, "What are they saying? Is she okay? Do they know where she is?"

Covering the phone with one hand, Vance replied, "As far as they know, she's okay. They can find where she is. Your wife," he spat the words out, "planted a tracer on her this morning." It wasn't until Michael had told him that tidbit that he truly understood how used Angel must have felt during the Upstarts incident.

"Samantha did what?" Mr. Jones all but shouted. "Give me the phone." He snatched the phone away and began to rant into it.

Strategically, Vance thought, it made sense. Use Angel to get to Stephen, after all Siobhan had said that Stephen liked to rush into things. But the coldness of it disturbed and infuriated him. Had the whole purpose of the meeting simply been to place the tracer? Was that the real purpose behind buying Angel's painting? How could you use your daughter like that? He had been so close to becoming like them.

But eventually, he realized that teams like the Warriors and the Avengers succeeded because of trust. Trust that your teammates wouldn't reveal your identity, that they had your back. He and Thrash had betrayed that trust, and it had affected the whole team. Angel leaving, Sil withdrawing, most likely leaving as well, Rich and Nita second guessing Thrash more often. Getting justice at any cost was a pyrrhic victory. He hoped Angel believed what he had told her.

There was a knock at the door. He looked over at Mr. Jones who was talking into the phone, "I don't care; this is unforgivable!" The older man gestured for Vance to get the door.

Siobhan waited on the other side, a baseball cap on her head; her hair now blonde. "Before you throw me against the wall, take this." She held out a small device. "You can trace Miss Jones with that. I put in the code. I swear I didn't know what your mother and Michael had planned."

"Why?" he asked warily.

She shrugged. "You don't treat family like that. And I want to go back to my job at Interpol. Or perhaps the moons are aligned."

"Or perhaps this is another trick. Use the Warriors to take out Stephen," he responded.

She smiled. "Could be. Of course, the Company's definition of take out means kill. You guys don't seem to do that very often. Good luck," she turned to go, but than added, "Watch yourselves. Stephen doesn't like to kill," the joking tone was gone, "but he will. He's as powerful as your friend, but older, more experienced. He will kill if he feels he has to." She left just as Nita and Rich arrived.

Angelica woke in a strange bed. Her head felt fuzzy. She blinked. The room came into focus. A book case, a table with a pitcher and glasses, a chair with Stephen in it.

Instinctively, she tried lashed out with her power.

And with a scream of pain fell back on the bed.

"The bracelet on your wrist," Stephen said conversationally "is to stop you from using your ability. Every time you try, it will hurt you."

She pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around the room.

"I didn't harm your friend, Justice or Vance Astrovik, whatever he prefers to be called. And, before you ask, you are at one of my safe houses." He hadn't moved one muscle.

"Your prisoner?" she asked looking at him.

He rose, walked over to the table, and poured two glasses of water. "Technically, yes. You are my prisoner. I told you, I need you to control your mother. The fact that you are far more interesting than I first thought doesn't change that. However, things can change eventually. It is . . . refreshing to meet someone like myself. Nice trick by the way."

She wasn't sure if she believed him about Vance, but since he seemed talkative, she asked, "How did you get away so quickly?"

Pleased that she had sense to ask that question, he wasn't about to answer it yet. "We will save that conversation for another day. Perhaps we can trade tricks during your stay." He handed her one glass of water and took a sip from his. "No more drugs, I assure you. The water will take away the cotton mouth feeling. I apologize for the amount of drugs that we used on you, but we didn't want you to wake during transit. It might have made things difficult, niece."

"You're my uncle?"

"No games. We searched your bag. You could've only gotten the tiger from your mother. I have opened the can of worms, haven't I?" He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs, making himself comfortable. "So why does Firestar, one of the most powerful mutants on earth, like myself, no longer associate with the Warriors?" he asked.

She ignored him. Sipping the water, she looked around the room. There were no windows. She might be in a basement.

"I think," Stephen continued, watching her, "that you realized they were using you."

She tired not to look at him, for his remarks were hitting too close to home.

"As your mother and her company used me," he finished.

Her company? Angel thought. "What . . . " she began.

He leaned forward in his chair. "People like you and me are either gods or the pawns of others. There is no in-between. Samantha used me. Your so called friends used you. The only way for us not to be pawns is to seize power ourselves," this last passionately said. "Something we can easily do. You know this. You know how tightly we must control the power; how it screams to be released, how much damage we can do if we choose. Better to be a god than a pawn, niece."

"You're not a god," she replied finally looking at him. "And what makes you any different than my mother? You're using me as a pawn."

He nodded, "But that would still be the case if you didn't have power. And there is no other way, strangely you are her weakness. But we were talking about your associates. The ones who used you for the power you command, but care not for who wields it. How long did it take for your so called boyfriend to track you down, little niece? And why? Because he wanted you? Or because he realized that the Warriors need your power? Sweet talk you into coming back and using you again was his plan, I have no doubt."

She looked down at the blanket on the bed. Her uncle kept hitting close to home. He voiced her own doubts, the ones that she hid even from herself. There was something else, however, she wanted to know, "Why do you want to control my mother?"

He almost looked disappointed that she hadn't leapt to Vance's defense. He sighed, "A long story for another day." He rose from the chair in one swift movement. "Knowing I have you will hurt her, make her more malleable. As you said, you are my prisoner. You are locked in this room until I deicide otherwise." He reached one door, "The other door," he gestured, "is a bathroom. Food will be brought. If you require anything, my men and I will supply it. There is a guard outside the door, so all you have to do is call out. You have my word, I will not hurt you unless you try to escape or cross me. People like us must stick together on some levels after all, and we have much to discuss about our abilities. Besides your mother is the murderer, not me," and with that parting shot he left the room, locking the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Angel entered the bathroom. After Stephen had left, a man had brought food and taken great pains to show her what was in the room. There was a good selection of books, a radio, TV, a treadmill, a small fridge stocked with a selection of drinks and fruit; she had even been given art supplies. The bathroom had been given the same level of care. Apparently her uncle shopped at Bath and Body Works. There was even Advil.

She might be a prisoner, but she would be a comfortable prisoner, which could be dangerous. What was it her psych professor had called it? Stockholm syndrome.

When she tried using her power, the pain that jolted though her body felt like a migraine combined with cramps. She turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on her face. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and thought about what Stephen had said. She didn't know whether to believe him about her mother, and as she didn't even know what she thought about her mother, she shoved those thoughts and questions to the side.

Had the Warriors used her as a pawn?

Thrash had, but Thrash used just about everyone that way, with the possible exception of Sil.

The others?

No, they hadn't. They hadn't been there when she needed, but they hadn't treated her like a pawn.

Vance?

Weeks, even three days ago, she would have answered yes. But now?

"I don't care if you go back to the Warriors," he had said. He wouldn't have followed her if he saw her as a pawn, would he?

Frost had seen her as a pawn. Her uncle, as he had said, saw her as a pawn.

She turned off the water.

She didn't want to be a pawn. She didn't want to be a god, either. She had seen what that did to people.

She wanted to be an artist that happened to be a super-hero.

Thinking, she looked at her watch. It was 7 pm. They had returned to the room around nine. Provided that her uncle was telling the truth, what would Vance do when he discovered her gone? She could wait here and hope that her mother would do something, or Stephen let her go or, by some miracle, Vance found her.

She wasn't going to wait. But what could she do without her powers?

She looked at the bracelet, manacle really, again. It kept her from accessing her powers by pain, making her shy away from using them. Like some sadistic Pavlov's dog experiment.

This meant she should be able to access her powers if she could take the pain. All she needed was just enough power to short it out.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she turned on the water in the tub and closed the door to the bathroom. She took a couple towels and sat on the tiled floor, her back against the tub. She folded a towel, put it in her mouth, and bite down. She clasped the bracelet with one hand.

She used her power.

"We'll have to take him out quickly," Justice said.

"No problem, Super-Tights. Just keep us shielded," Nova responded flexing his hands. It felt good to be doing something again. Sitting back at the Crash Pad and waiting for Vance to phone in had been tough. "We'll hit him hard and fast."

"Is there any sign of anyone else?" Nita asked.

The three Warriors were hovering in the air a short distance away from where the locator told them Firestar should be. Nova had done a quick fly over and reported that there was a house.

Nova shook his head and responded to Nita's question, "No one. Just us. The lights were on, but I decided not to knock."

Nita shook her head, "It's too easy. It has to be a trap."

"We're allowed an easy one every now and then," Nova replied.

Justice looked back at the locator screen. Since Siobhan had given it to him, he hadn't put it down. He, however, agreed with Nita.

Suddenly, the signal from the tracer stopped. He felt like he had been hit in the stomach. He swore.

"What is it?" Nita asked.

"The signal stopped."

Nova looked in the direction of the house. "Could mean nothing. But let's not waste any time." He was tired of his friends and family being targets.

The blast came from behind them.

Shaking, Angel lay on the bathroom floor for a few minutes. The coolness of the tile felt good. She was clammy and trembling. Every part of her body hurt. It felt like someone had twisted her up, wrung her out, and then pounded her against a rock. Then repeated the process several times.

The manacle, split into two, lay on the floor.

She forced herself to sit up. She reached across to turn off the water. Hopefully, the sound of running water and the towel in her mouth had masked her screams. She was sure that if they had heard, they would already be here.

She looked at her wrist. Where the bracelet had been was burned. It hurt the most.

But she could use her powers.

She was pretty sure she was in a basement. She could burn her way up and out, but there was Stephen to consider. He had more experience and skill.

Perhaps, she thought after a minute, he had more bracelets.

Justice could feel the power pounding on the walls of his shields. It took all his strength to keep himself and Nova shielded. The attack had come out of no where and scattered them. Nita was on the ground fighting the others. He and Nova were attempting to contain Stephen.

They were losing.

Nova kept trying to grab hold of Stephen, but the older man evaded him easily. While Nova dodged Stephan's blasts, he kept getting blinded by the older man's light flashes. Then, Stephan would aim blast after blast at Justice's shields. He couldn't even get a telekinetic blast off; he couldn't waste the power to do so.

It was one thing to see Angel exhibit such power. Another to be on the receiving end.

Nova cursed. Why couldn't the man stand still and take a punch? Ignoring the glaring light that was flashed his way; he came in hard, hoping to get Stephen to back off just enough so that Justice could get off a telekinetic blast. It worked. Stephen switched his attack to Nova, allowing Justice some breathing room.

Taking a risk, Justice lowered his own shield. He used the extra power to send a tek blast at Stephan. The blast caught the other mutant unawares and sent him tumbling.

Nova let out a crow of triumph, "We've got him on the run!" He flew quickly after Stephan. Shielded by Justice's power, Nova penetrated Stephan's heat shield and grabbed the man by the shirt. Nova drew back for a bunch.

Enough of being nice, Stephan thought and shifted form. One minute Nova was holding a person and the next light and heat in the shape of person. The heat burned him. It scorched though the shields. Nova screamed and let go. The light slammed him into a tree and then swerved going straight for Justice.

Justice dodged the first attack. Using telekinesis, He tried to grab hold of the light form. It didn't work. Nothing worked. Stephan slammed into the younger man, knocking him to the ground

Being trapped on the ground was not a position Nita liked. They had her chained to the ground, and were coming at her so hard and fast that she couldn't take the time to break the chain that held her.

She found herself wishing that Nova had x-ray vision and Spidey Sense.

The guards had learned very quickly not to shock her. She slammed her fist into one man who doubled over in pain. One of them got a lucky punch in, but she quickly returned the favor. They may be swarming her, but she was winning. She tossed another man away. Tried to reach down and break the chain that held her to the ground. Someone threw himself on to her, pushing her to the ground. She felt a gun being pressed into the back of her head.

Fzzzzeeeek.

There was no longer a gun.

She elbowed the man hard, harder than she would have normally, and then punched him hard enough to knock him out.

Fzzzzeeek

The chain was gone. Nita punched another guard. She cries of pain as Firestar melted the weaponry of the others. A few more punches and the rest decided that fleeing was a better decision. Nita looked up at her rescuer, "Looks like you didn't need any saving, Angel." She looked over her teammate. The younger woman was holding one arm gingerly and looked wrung out, "You okay?"

"I'll live," then anticipating Nita's next question continued, "The others at the house are taken care of."

There was a flash of light off towards their left.

"Can you take him out?" Nita asked as she rose up to hover near Firestar.

"I have an idea."

Stephan looked at the mutant lying on the ground before him. Foolish boy, Stephan thought, didn't he realize that if microwaves could disrupt telepath attacks, than telekinesis would also be vulnerable? Changing to light form was tiring, and he needed to end the battle quickly before Samantha and her people showed up. As much as he hated to do it, he needed to kill Justice. Without shielding, the others would be easier to deal with, and he couldn't take the risk of the man waking up.

Firestar saw her uncle stand over Justice. She felt the power he was about to wield.

If anyone was going kill Vance, she had dibs.

She let lose a blast of power.

The bolt struck him on the side. The shock of it sent him stumbling back a few feet. How she had gotten out of the bracelet, he thought as he took to the air. A shame that he had not known her as a child.

Let's see how quickly she learns to adapt to and counter her own tricks.

Before she even reached him, Firestar could feel him drawing her power. Fine, let him. She just needed to reach him. Above the ground the two closed on each other, light and heat radiating outward in an impressive light show. Stephan smiled to himself, age and experience counted when it came to mutants. He drew her power, growing brighter, stronger, as her light dimmed. He grasped her left wrist and felt her wince in pain. Before he could take advantage, her other hand shot out, evaded his grasp, and slipped a bracelet on his wrist. She snapped it shut and turned it on. She let go of him.

A startled expression crossed Stephan's face, but then he smiled and let out a laugh. It was cut short as Nita's fist connected with his jaw.

Nova helped Justice to his feet, "You okay?"

Justice nodded, "You?"

"Feel a little baked, but I'm good to go."

Thinking Nova's baked description was a pretty good one, Justice asked, "Stephan?"

Nova pointed, "The girls took him out. Question is, what do we do with him now?"

Justice looked. Nita and Firestar were standing over Stephen who lay out cold on the ground. Justice's eyes lingered over Firestar, noting the hurt arm. "Angel," he said as he and Nova came over. She turned to look at him, and a feeling of relief washed over him. "Are you okay?" he asked and pulled her into a hug. He felt her wince, but after a second, she hugged him back.

"Your arm?" he asked as she stepped away after a moment.

"Later. Right now, what do we do with him?" she responded, pointing to Stephan. "I'm not sure turning over to my mother," she almost choked on the word, "Is the right option."

"Why not?" Nita asked looking up from searching for burns on Nova's arm. "It's her mess."

"'Star's right," Justice replied, kneeling down to get a good look at Stephan. He wanted to be able to recognize the man if he saw him again. He stood. "We don't know enough about them," he looked at Firestar, worried what her reaction might be, but she nodded in agreement. "We could ask the guardsmen from the Vault. I got to know them pretty well. We should move him though. In case, Mrs. Jones' people show up." He caught sight of Firestar's confused look. He had hoped that he could've spared her his suspicions. "I'll explain in the jet."

Waiting for the painkillers to kick in, Angel watched Vance as he tended to her burned wrist. It wasn't bad, but it hurt. He hadn't said much since the guardsman had arrived to take Stephan. Scott, the one who Vance seemed to know the best, said that they had a couple warrants for Stephan. Vance had, almost apologetically, told her about his thoughts about her mother's motive in buying the painting. But she agreed with him. This could have been something that her mother set up.

She had too much to think about. Her mother. Her uncle.

Vance.

The last couple days hadn't erased the hurt of the last few weeks. But he seemed different, not who he had been before his time in the Vault, but not who he had been after either; more like a blending of the two. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He looked up from wrist, his blue eyes meeting hers, "For what?"

"For being there, for coming with me."

He began to wrap a bandage around her wrist. "You're welcome. I should have been there before." He taped the bandage. "When we get back, can we talk?" he asked.

"I'd like that, "she replied.


	7. Chapter 7

Epilogue

_Four Weeks Later_

Letter from Bartholomew Jones to Samantha Jones.

Samantha,

I am well, thanks for asking. The job is working out well and might become a permanent position.

Angelica is doing fine, considering that we lied to her for most of her life. I never felt right about it, Sam. We should have found a better way.

She seems happier, less depressed. She's returned to the Warriors, for now at least. I worry, but I think you are right. At least this way, she has a choice. She's keeping in mind what you said. One of the Warriors is trying to find a way to rig some kind of salary. Seems Angel isn't the only one who could use a paycheck.

She and Vance are dating again. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure how I feel about that. Before they had an official date, Vance came down here and apologized to me, told me what happened, what he did to be more exact, stuff that even Angel hadn't told me. Said he wanted a clean slate with me before he started dating Angel again. Good thing I didn't know the whole story before or I would have kicked his ass when he showed up trying to contact you. It took guts to do tell me, I have to admit. Sorta admire it too. And he was there for her during the whole mess that we made. There for her when she got back. Angel said he would show up at her place with food or coffee, and they would talk. If she was painting, she is going to be in another show by the way, he would wait until she was done. I believed him when he said he loved her. He's a good man who knows he made a mistake and he is trying to put it right. I'm not sure, however, I'm happy about the relationship, but I'm reserving judgment.

The strange thing is that Stephan has asked to speak to Angelica. I know, I'm thinking the same thing. But Angel and Vance think it might be a good idea. I'll let you know. I'm not sure what he would tell her.

As to your final question, I've asked her. She's not sure. I think she's afraid of the answer to the question that she, Vance, and I all have. If she writes you, she'll have to ask it.

But Samantha, I need to know. You owe me, and her, the truth. You know that. So I'll ask. When you brought Angel's painting, did you do it to have something of her, or was it to draw out Stephan?

Bartholomew

_Text of a letter from Samantha Jones to Bartholomew Jones._

Bart,

In response to your question the answer is,

I don't know. I honestly don't.

Samantha.


End file.
